


can't be loving you

by bitchbabytears



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Bensler, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual!Olivia, Dominant!Elliot, Drinking, E/O, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Partnership, Police, Sadness, Season/Series 05, Sex, Smut, Submissive!Olivia, departure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 04:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchbabytears/pseuds/bitchbabytears
Summary: After Alexandra Cabot leaves, Olivia is a mess.Elliot's been in love with his partner for years, and while he hates the idea of using Olivia's pain to get his chance, he's no saint.She asks, and who is he not to oblige.No previous Bensler sexual history. Mention of other past relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i do not own the rights to any of these characters, all that.  
> it's been a fair while since i uploaded something.  
> i wrote this instead of doing my english homework, so now i'm left with unfinished homework and a oneshot i'm not hugely happy with. apologies.  
> happy easter for this sunday to all of you that celebrate, i do and i'm super excited.  
> i'm gonna try to get another little something written relatively soon, although no promises.  
> have a great day/night.  
> title from oh wonder's song drive.  
> feedback is always greatly appreciated.

He reads a lot more than he should into the look in Alexandra Cabot’s eyes before the four wheeler’s door is slammed shut and the car carries Alex Cabot or Suzie Walker or Katie Pumpernickel or whoever she is now, off to her new life. The ADA has been a pain in his ass ever since they met but she’s never stopped caring about the work they do and he figures that has to matter, especially now. And then there’s the fact that his partner is, or was, in love with Alex damn Cabot.  
Olivia turns into him suddenly, hiding her face in his neck, muffling her sobs on the cotton of his shirt. It stings a little, and he’s suddenly beset with guilt. Because maybe he’s feeling a little elated, glad. That because he thinks that just maybe, she’ll finally notice his eyes on her. Because he never seems to be looking at anything, anyone, else.  
“S’okay, Liv.” He whispers into her hair, because he needs to hear it himself. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”  
She doesn’t speak all throughout the car journey but he sees her trembling in an effort to stop crying. He pulls up in front of her building, finally, and looks over. She smiles weakly before dissolving into another fit of tears.  
“S’okay.” He murmurs again.  
“I – I just. She’s gone, but she’s not and there’s this part of me, one tiny, terrible, awful part of me that wishes she were dead. Because if she were dead, I would know that it was over. Final. But she’s gonna be out there somewhere, alive as someone else. And I don’t know what to do with that information.” Her voice sounds so … defeated. His earlier reassurances sound empty.  
“What do you need, huh? What can I do?” He asks.  
“You wanna come upstairs? I have alcohol.” She says, managing a halfhearted smirk as she brushes a stray tear away with the tip of her index finger.  
He hesitates, not knowing whether he can trust himself alone with her, and a bottle of scotch. He shakes his head, shoving the thought out of his mind. “Yeah, ‘course.”  
[]  
Her keys jangle loudly and she winces, but the door of her apartment finally creaks open. Elliot walks in after her, keeping his footfalls as light as possible before dumping his shoes and socks on the floor of the hallway. He realizes it has little to do with actually staying quiet for the neighbors, and everything to do with never wanting to leave.  
By the time he’s made it to her kitchen, she’s sitting on one of the barstools clutching a bottle of liquor to her chest. He watches as she lifts it to her lips and takes a swig. He flinches for her, because she doesn’t even seem to register the burn that must be stinging down her throat. She holds it out to him, and he takes it, mostly to stop her from drinking any more. She usually makes a point not to drink like that, at least not regularly. Worry simmers in his chest and makes his stomach turn.  
“C’mere El.” Her words are slurred already and he wonders just how much of the shiny amber liquid she managed to neck before he walked in. She pulls him into an embrace, and it’s awkward and a little uncomfortable as he stumbles into it and stands stiffly with her arms around his neck. She buries her nose in the divet of his shoulder, pressing her lips to his collarbone.  
She drags her mouth, wet with booze and tears, over his neck before pressing a kiss to the underside of his jawbone, his cheek, the corner of his lips. She pulls back a little. “Will you kiss me?”  
He looks at her sceptically for half a moment before swearing under his breath and pulling her mouth towards his. The first time their lips touch is a little anticlimactic, he thinks. Considering the amount of time he’s spent stripping her with his eyes (at some point the guilt had just dissipated), he was half expecting fireworks or a brass fanfare or something, not that the solid pressure of her lips against his doesn’t feel good, it does, does, does. But when her tongue grazes his top lip and slides against his own, the thought vanishes. He can’t ever remember anything feeling more perfect, more right. “Christ, Olivia.” He says into her mouth and she moans as he drags his teeth hard over her bottom lip. She tastes of alcohol and grief and lust and compassion all at once. He struggles to keep upright.  
“Will you fuck me?” She asks and he jerks back, leaving her cold suddenly. He’s half hard in his slacks and he knows, knows, knows she can see it, knows she can tell he’s affected, always so affected by her. She holds his gaze and he falters, stepping forward again and kissing her forcefully.  
“No.” He swears, stumbling backward, out of her reach. “You’re drunk and overly emotional because Alex is gone, I get that. But I also get that tomorrow morning, if I fuck you, you won’t be able to look at me, let alone yourself.” His voice is raised and her brow furrows in anger.  
“I didn’t ask whether I want this, I asked if you’d fuck me. And now I’m asking. Do. You. Want. To. Fuck. Me. Elliot?” She asks, trying to hide how her voice and hands are shaking.  
“Of course I fucking do!” He finally explodes, “This is all I’ve wanted since Cragen put us together in 1999! But because I’m married, or did you forget that, Olivia?” He gets a little sarcastic and mean with his words. She visibly flinches. “And because you’re you, I stayed quiet about it. All I’ve wanted for 5 fucking years is to have you but then you started screwing Cabot and I thought we missed our chance. Of course I want this…” His voice trails off and he averts his gaze.  
“Then this is your chance.” She says softly, anger vanquished almost entirely. “Do whatever you want to me. Not because I’m being self-destructive, because I want you too. I’ve always wanted you to.”  
He swears again, pressing his lips to hers, again and again. “Fuck. Liv, fuck.” He’s so ridiculously hard. She moans into his moans, high and pretty, his whole body jerks like he’s touched a wired fence.  
When he presses against her, she shoves him right back, and he wonders how they’ve ever kept their hands off each other. They stumble through her apartment, toward the bedroom, pulling at each other’s clothes roughly. He manages to get her sweater off and tosses it God knows where, before literally tearing her blouse open, sending buttons flying.  
“Screw you, I liked that shirt.” She says it just to piss him off, because maybe she likes this new, dark, dangerous side of him just a little too much. Because she’s seem him so angry it’s downright terrifying, seen him trembling with thinly veiled rage, at perps, at the system, at himself. But this is different, when she can see how shiny and red his lips are from where she’s sucked and bitten at them. Because his erection is hot and heavy, tenting his slacks, pressing against her hip. Because he is so effected by her. And she is so effected by that knowledge alone.  
She’s left standing in her bra and trousers, and he muses briefly over what an eternity in hell will be like. But before he has any real time to dwell, she’s reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. The straps slide down her arms and she drops it. His pupils dilate alarmingly fast, and he’s sure she will be able to hear his heartbeat thudding behind his ribcage from where she’s standing.  
“’Livia.” His voice is gravel, deeper and different to how she’s always heard him speak.  
“Yeah?” He nearly doesn’t hear her reply, partly because she’s whispering, and partly because all the pieces are sliding together in his head, how he now sees all the times she’s undressed him with her eyes too over the years, how she’s wanted this as badly as he has, and the sound of blood rushing past his eardrums is deafening. She pulls his boxers down over the bulge of his cock and the ridges of his abdominal muscles, hipbones. He can’t tear his eyes away from what he can already her body, all soft edges and taut muscles. Her breasts, he thinks, may be the prettiest set of boobs he’s ever clapped eyes on. She sees his eyes on her and smiles softly. His cock throbs and heart races. He doesn’t know where to put his hands but before he has half a chance to move she’s stepping towards him, pressing her lips to his neck, sucking and biting at the skin there. She drags her mouth lower, tracing her tongue over the ridges of his collarbone. Her fingers drift over his stomach, sliding firmly around his cock. She squeezes, fingers soft but grip firm, putting exactly the right amount of twist in the pull of her wrist. His head drops against her shoulder and they stand rocking gently against each other.  
“Li-iv.” He grates out, shuddering, just as she swipes her thumb over the tip of his cock. “I’ll fucking cum if you don’t quit that.” Although he knows he’s not even really that close.  
“So do it, or stop me.” She whispers back, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just below his ear. Knowing he won’t she keeps her hand moving, and he walks her backwards to the bed, lies with his chest over her hips, and meet her lips with his.  
They kiss like teenagers, his tongue flicks over the threshold of her lips, swipes over her teeth. She traces the curvatures of his bicep with the fingertips of one hand and cups his jaw with her other hand. It occurs to her that she’s touched parts of his body in the past, held on for dear life after he’s been shot or stabbed, cleaned up his cut knuckles when he’s gotten just that little bit handsy with a particularly vile suspect, or when he’s taken out some of his pain, the unfuckingbearable misery that she knows he will always carry with him, on his locker, but this, this new intimate contact of fingers and hands and mouths on places she’d hardly let herself think about before, is different and special and she never, never, never wants to stop. So when he starts unbuckling her belt, unzipping her slacks and sliding a large warm hand over the front of her underwear, directly above where she can feel her clit throbbing, she knows the touches with get deeper, more sure and intimate, and maybe a little rougher, her breathing quickens. He notices immediately. Observant to a fault, except when it matters.  
“What’s wrong?” He asks, stilling completely, immediately. Emotion surges through her, that and lust. He is a good man, she knows this. Being a good man makes him a great SVU detective.  
“Not a thing.” She smiles that smile even he only gets to see on the best days of all her best days. All he can think is how pretty, pretty, pretty she is, and how good it will feel to finally be inside her.  
He thumbs the crotch of her panties out of the way and ghosts the tip of his index finger over her slit. And then circles the same fingertip over her clit. She hums an indistinct noise of pleasure into his neck. It’s a soft, meandering kind of pleasure, and he touches her with a gentleness she’s only ever seen in him when he’s talking to his kids.  
“El…” Her voice trembles slightly because it’s that moment he chooses to carefully dip a finger into her wet heat. He drags that one digit back and forth slowly, testing what feels good to her, curling it forward to find her sweet spot. Her breath does more than hitch when he finds it and slides another finger alongside the first. He presses them both in and out, slowly trying to find a rhythm but the tight material of her slack restricts his mobility so he pulls his hand out of her pants entirely and she makes an almost pained sound at the loss.  
“S’okay, gimme a sec.” He says, sliding her trousers and panties over her ass and hips, off her calves and feet. She suddenly very naked and very aware of it. He lets his eyes roam over her legs, hips, the pale, delicate flesh of her folds. Then he sliding down her body, shouldering apart her thighs and laving at her clit with his hot tongue. Her hips buck into his mouth and his teeth graze over her clit. His fingers slide back into her and he finds that one spot almost immediately.  
“Oh Elliot! Ahhh!”  
“That’s it, baby, fuck yes.” His voice, those words, all this new, unprecedented intensity from him, is what tips her body over the edge. Shudders cascade through her and her breath comes fast, in high pitched breathy moans. Fireworks explode behind her eyelids, showers of pretty colors bursting over and over again. The movement of his hand only increasing in speed and drive. Her muscles tighten around his fingers, pleasure reverberates throughout her whole body, meandering along the line between good and oversensitive, too intense bad. And then she’s falling again, over and over that ledge. Fluid runs all the way down his wrist but he doesn’t move it quite yet. Finally, finally she flinches away from him, and he knows enough to retract his fingers, wiping them on his slacks.  
“Christ.” She says quietly. He smiles lazily, looking down at her, watching her piece herself back together enough to form a coherent sentence.  
“Yeah.”  
“Whoever taught you to do that should get a Medal of Valor. Or a Purple Heart, I don’t sort of want to think about which.” Of all the fucking things to say when he’s just seen to it that she’s calmed down and gotten not one but two of what he’s sure are two of the best orgasms she’s ever had.  
“Do you know you invented comedy, Liv?” He quips sarcastically, although not unkindly. She laughs.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.” He’s smiling and she laughing and all he can think is how he never wants this moment to end. But it does, inevitably so. She sits up, no longer laughing, traces his jaw with her fingers. They kiss for several minutes, stopping to breathe every so often, resting their foreheads against each other’s. Her hands start to wander, shoving at his pant belt and boxers. He gets the message so he stands, lips with her mouth wetly, letting his slacks fall and pushes his boxers down his legs. His erection springs free, precum beading at the tip. She lies back again, waiting for him to move. He does, sliding in under the covers on top of her, not even giving her time to think before pressing down and into her wet heat. He groans, deep and drawn out.  
She talks quietly against his shoulder. “Fuck, Elliot. Oh – oh my god.” The overwhelming pleasure makes her mind so blank she can’t think of any words beyond his name and a list of curse words in several languages.  
His body is long, long enough for his toes to be hanging off the end of her mattress whilst his hand grip the top edge. So he does, using the weight of the mattress as leverage against his own body weight so his movements are hard, sure and direct. She muffles a cry in his neck.  
It only takes a half dozen more strokes before he’s right on the edge, because this has been building for a while. Maybe, if he’ll admit it, years. But he won’t cum before she does so he grits his teeth and keeps moving, slowly, because even this tightly strung, he knows he never wants it to end.  
“Come on, baby, I got you.” And that’s all it takes. She cries out. He’s helpless to stop moving so she lets him, oversensitive, damn near painful pleasure washing over her. She digs her fingernails into his shoulder blades, and that does it for him.  
He yells something that could be her name or his own or just nonsense and lets his orgasm drain him. All energy siphoned, he falls, entirely boneless, against her. She lets him lie, her head just clearing.  
He drags himself up after several moments, curls his body against hers, his chest to her back, and sleeps.  
She lies awake, comfortable in the safety of his arms, but now all that she can hear is his steady breath and her own heartbeat, nothing can be done about the torrent of horrible thoughts. She wonders where Alexandra is right at that moment. Guilt she was previously immune to curls in her chest and grips at her heart.  
[]  
When he finally awakens the next morning, still naked and in her bed, she’s gone. He sighs deeply, blinking sleep from his eyes. Damnit.


End file.
